


A Kiss From A Rose

by Juurriiiaaa



Series: Ship Onslaught Week [3]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Akaashi Keiji-centric, Bullying, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 11:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13950405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juurriiiaaa/pseuds/Juurriiiaaa
Summary: Life was dragging by.And it's adamant on dragging Akaashi Keiji with it.Only seventeen and starting his second year at Fukurodani Academy, Akaashi Keiji feels as if he was triple his age. With his family abandoning him, his life spiraling out of his grasp. He finally has enough.After being cornered on the day he plans to kill himself by his bully, a third year decides to help him out.His saviour? Bokuto Koutarou





	A Kiss From A Rose

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Second One-shot is here! I hope you enjoy reading and I do recommend listening to A KISS FROM A ROSE BY SEAL (COVER) it sets the mood and the song itself is amazing! 
> 
> Be warned: not for the light hearted!

WARNING! ⚠  
Mention of abuse, self-harm, rape and bullying. If certain audiences are triggered, please be sure to skip certain parts. 

HERE WE GO. 

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

THERE WERE SOME THINGS Akaashi desperately wished would come true. 

Drowsy mornings — the smell of dew, the soft duvet tangled between his legs, the spill of dawn coming from the crack of the window — and the sense that this loveless home — neat and clean, sparse of pictures, the noticeable lack of warmth — would encase him from the horror that was his life. 

He glanced at the clock that situated itself on the top of his nightstand. The rickety piece of thing flashing red numbers at his face, irritating the bleary eyeballs as he realized he woken up fifteen minutes before his alarm — 5: 44AM. He breathed in the smell of the cold and relaxing back into the duvet, to tired to accept that he had just woken up. 

It was Monday. 

The weekend flies by so fast, he thought sleepily. 

These mornings were tolerable. It meant the weight on Akaashi's chest didn't feel like it was slowly crushing his already crushed heart. It meant that he could breathe the cold air and happily think that maybe — desperately maybe — today wouldn't have him sitting in of the corners of the bathroom — blood running from his limbs, his throat raw from crying all his heart out, his mind filled up with the black sludge that craved death. 

It meant that he could at least act normal for a day. 

He could act like his home would be filled with aroma of dinner when reached back. That his home wasn't as barren as the desserts in China. Believe — stupidly so — that he didn't come from a fucked up family that somehow fucked him up too. Pretending that he was a normal high school student who didn't do taxes, that didn't pay his own bills, who barely gets enough sleep cause he had too many jobs and work, that didn't cut himself because he was such a disgrace. 

And that consistent of his first wish, he wanted to be normal. 

He lazily stretched his arms over his head — letting out an irritated huff when the skin around the dry blood pulled and immediately began to itch. He rubbed the rough plane of his wrist gently, goading the little specs of blood to loosen a bit, making sure he didn't open them again since his arm was already streaked with brown hued blood. After a while, he couldn't resist to urge to scratch the marks, his untrimmed nails picking at the abused flesh without mercy. 

Oh well, he thought. I was planning on wrapping my arm anyways. 

He breathed in the cold again before standing up, finally accepting that his shitty day had begun. 

[C]➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

Akaashi found himself feeling weak.

As he walked out the tram, he gently placed the medical mask on his face. Bending the metal by his nose so that he could properly see before walking towards the exit, dodging hasty bodies and rushing adults as they tried to reach the early morning tram. He sniffled back a flood of mucus and cleared his throat of any pus, spitting the thick green substance on a nearby trashcan. 

Fukurodani, to his luck, didn't start class as early as eight in the morning. They usually started by eight thirty — Tuesday to Thursday — and eight fifteen on Mondays and Fridays. He was fortunate that the school started rather late since he was behind the time that he usually arrived. 

[I]It's because I'm utterly sick. 

Akaashi thought to himself. 

Kanto region, in the morning, was relatively calm and tired. If you lived by the edge of Greater Tokyo however, the busy nature still reached Kanto. His station was situted near the Tokyo Metropolitan Tower, and knowing how busy the place is alone, it is no brainer that the station was bustling with noise and activity at such an early hour of the morning. 

He exited the station and began the light journey to his school. 

His stride wasn't shy nor tired, it was sluggish and jittery — like he didn't even want to walk anymore. His steps were soft and barely made a sound — as if he didn't weigh anything — to come to think of it, he barely weighed much at all. Most of the money he was earning immediately went to the rent, or to school loans, or to projects he needed to ace, or to fees that kept appearing left and right. 

He was lucky to sustain a job that demanded his undivided attention during Tuesday, Thursday and the weekend. Even more surprised that he managed to juggle a three jobs and his schoolwork without collapsing. Situation like these, Akaashi is happy that he never relied on sleep. 

His bleary eyes, kept track of the signs he that lead him to his destination. Murmuring to himself about how long the entire trip was — it wasn't long, it was just one of those days that seemed to undeniably suck — nearly missing a turn before catching sight of his schools gate. 

By now his ankle, knees and shoulders felt as if they had undergone serious conditioning. His back felt like it was carrying the weight of the world by the ticks and slight pain it kept projecting with every step he took. He had just enough when his head suddenly decided to throb like it was pounded onto by a drummer. 

[I]Akaashi was undeniably weak. 

But not entirely. 

It wasn't the same kind of weak that reflected solely on your physical attributes. Nor was it the kind of weak that reflected the mental barriers he had. It was the the kind of weak that made your limbs heavy, made your grip and sense of strength become extremely sensitive. The weak that tugged the bottom of you heart and kept poking the soft muscle with throbs of pain. 

[I]Akaashi was weak. 

He had barely enough time to reach the gates before he pulled into a curb, his sling digging into bruised chest — still not healing from the beating he received last week — visibly showing the pain when the strap dug itself into the abused flesh. 

[I]Holy fuck, did it hurt. 

His yelp was swallowed down when he thrown down to the ground. His shoulder roughly kissing the concrete, his sore limbs hugging the ground in relief and defeat — relief since they could at least rest and defeat knowing that it had no strength to fight back. 

[I]So, 

Akaashi deducted, 

[I]its a bad day after all. 

"If it isn't Keiji."

The perpritator — Yunaza Iro, was a third year that had taken a liking — it was a kink of his, Akaashi has no doubt in his mind — to beating homosexuals like Akaashi. He practically thrived to beat the homosexuality out of the students — as if he could change that. He sauntered halls and it didn't take a genius to realize that Yunaza Iro, said perfect student, was a devil in disguise. 

"I didn't see you last Friday." He drawled. His Auburn hair falling over his hazel eyes, his so called adorable freckles dotting on his nose. His smile was anything but friendly, showcasing a row of pearly whites that Akaashi wished he had enough strenght to punch out each and every single on them. 

Which concludes his second wish. 

As Akaashi glanced at Yunaza, he knew that he would find himself locked in his house for the remainder of the night once he reached home. He knew that he would spend it, sitting on the cold tiled floor, limbs lazily sprawled across the free space, clutching a broken shard of glass on one hand and a bottle of alcohol on the other. He knew that he would scream his heart out and yet no one will ever hear him. You know why? Because Akaashi was alone in this sparse world. 

Akaashi wished he had immeasurable strength. 

"I keep hearing that you're the top of your class," Yunaza pressed his foot on top of the feeble ribs of Akaashi. "Its a shame really," The foot pressed down harder — he could feel his ribs bending to the power of the limb — he felt his headache come tenfold when his head harshly met the ground. If he were to resist, he knew Yunaza wouldn't hesitate to break his ribs. "A faggot shouldn't be praised cause he's smart."

"I need— need to— breath." Wheeze Akaashi. 

"It's best if you don't, scum."

"Please— please," He grunted when the foot sent a powerful kick to his stomach. His empty stomach to be exact. 

"I didn't say you could answer me, filth." Yunaza stood over Akaashi. His arms balled into fists as he suddenly straddled him. Akaashi was about to plead to him when the fist harshly greeted his cheek — it stings, feeling the inner wall of his mouth kissing the sharp end of his teeth, feeling the teeth bend as it was severely poked — followed by another on the adjacent side. 

"Help!" Akaashi croaked — he didn't know why but he couldn't resist the temptation of calling for help. Knowing fully well — he kept drilling this into his head — that no one would ever answer his plea. 

[I]His father didn't. 

When he dragged Akaashi across their home and into their basement, locking him inside the dark, free space — he remembered screaming for somebody — anybody — for help, screaming so hard that he scratched his throat,  begging anybody to not leave him down here because he knew that people would come sooner or later — he was the starved. 

And as expected, people came. They touched his body — touched his chest, rubbed his back again and again, caressed his lower abdomen, traced his physique in the dark — they used what little dignity he had left when they decided to shove their greed up his ass. 

[I]His mother could care less about Akaashi.

Leaving him at the doorstep of his father — the obvious drunk, druggie, and abuser — selling her own son to his own birthfather, she barely cared for him anyway — but for what? Money. Of course, money. Shoving him inside the decaying home with only a quarter of his belongings in a bag and the rest on a small, ratty and beaten suitcase. She rushed to leave as suddenly it dawned to Akaashi that he was being abandoned. 

He didn't even want to leave. He didn't care if he went through the same shit with his mother, he didn't even care if they beat him near death — all he cared about was his little brother. His little brother who he found out died at three years old because his own mother left him — a toddler — alone in their apartment for three months. His little brother, the light of his life, suffering at the expense of his older brother not being good enough. His little brother, a three year old, was found dead in his room, laying on his bed clutching his stomach, dead due to starvation. 

All his life, nobody answered his pleads.

[I]So why now? 

"What the fuck are you doing?" The weight left Akaashi, the feeling of Yunaza diminished into the air — as if his body left Akaashi, but that was too farfetched — maybe he got too numb that he finally couldn't feel the pain around him. 

"Why the fuck are you beating up a student, asshole?"

Akaashi's brows furrowed when a voice distantly met his ears. It was followed with bickering and shouts, both deep voices arguing over who knows what. He was about the fall into deep and sweet sleep when he felt himself being lifted of the ground. 

Akaashi was weaker now than he was this morning. He knew that. His resolve for staying alive was nearly shattering. Actually, his resolve for everything was shattering. That was obvious. It was no brainer that he couldn't move his body anymore because he was being physically abused — the self torture, the self neglect. He couldn't feel the pain anymore.

As he felt a pair of, what seems to be, muscular arms circling his body. He couldn't help but internally panic. He grew up knowing the feeling of a man, grew up knowing how it feels to be with a man and it is no doubt, in his head, that the person cradling them to their chest was, a man. He could feel the ripple of muscle and the possible smell of testosterone wafted over his nose. 

[I]Old Spice. 

If this were to be a man, he would, probably, use him as many other men had. He would, probably, start the destruction by introducing himself then by worming his way to his heart — faking stories and actions as if they were angels. He would, probably, find out later on that he was, in fact, dreadfully gay. Soon, the attitude will shift gradually from sweet friend to potential lover. 

[I]Worming his way to his pants as well. 

He would then have Akaashi helplessly in love with him — because Akaashi has a heart too big for his body — willingly giving him everything for him, alone, to shatter him again. 

[I]It's the same cycle all over again. 

This man could use his body like all the other men before him did. Pleasuring himself till he grows tired of the same guy. Tired of seeing Akaashi and the scars he had. Tired of this wrecked faggot who seemed to have an emotional baggage whose size rivaled worlds. 

This man could be the next devil that God sent. 

"Don't worry, little one," The man's voice gently caressing the ears of Akaashi — voice of deep pleasure, sweet nothings, safety and gentleness — it was estranged. "I'll watch over ya."

The last thing Akaashi heard was the sound of footsteps heavily echoing through the sidewalk. 

"Rest, little one."

[C]➖➖➖➖➖➖

Bokuto Koutarou grew up in a stable family setting in a beautiful neighborhood by Greater Tokyo. 

He was taken cared for, pinned after and given everything he may or may not want. He was thrown birthdays and surprises, given gift after gift, sure, he was subjected into learning most of the skills he needed at a young age but he was happy to follow along because the tedious tasks we're anything but tiring. 

He never has been to a public school before and was happily to say that though he was spoiled ripe by his family, he didn't let all the rich bullshit go through his head. He tried his best in school, worked hard for his grades, helped the cleaners as much as he can by cleaning as well, doing charity work with his mom at times and doing the best he can to make life easier for other people. 

Which is why he wants to be doctor. 

He had this plan mapped out when he was still in middle school. Studying hard to get into Fukurodani and working harder now just to be accepted into Tokyo University for his doctorate degree. After he graduates from Tokyo Uni, he would start his own practice and open up Youth Centers around Japan. Taking strays, runaways, orphan children under his wing and making them all better. 

He was going to do good in the world. 

But he wasn't all talk. 

Bokuto waited patiently outside the schools clinic. His body sagging and resting onto the cushioned seat of the waiting area. His head resting against the wall behind him. His bag was discarded on the seat beside him, and besides his bag, a ratty overused backpack idly cuddled to his bag.

In all honesty, Bokuto didn't know what to expect when he heard a distant sound of distress when he turned. 

He heard. 

He was dropped off by his father near the train station. He was happily walking to school when the sound of pain filtered through the air and pierced his ears. He immediately thought it was an animal being tortured by some sick middle schooler — it had happened once. Even with that in mind, he quickly dashed through the sidewalk and entered a dark alleyway where the most prominent pleas wafted through. 

To his surprise and shock, a fellow student of Fukurodani was straddling another and was relentlessly beating the guy into a pulp. The fists were practically a blur as he kept throwing one powerful hit after another, Bokuto snapped when he heard a distinct snap as well. 

He glanced around and noticed nobody willing to help and blatantly ignoring the abuse the is ensuing. He once again heard another distinct snap and turned. 

The guy know resulted into choking the student. 

He had just about enough of this bastard. 

"What the fuck are you doing?" He shouted, ramming the side of his body into the bully, effectively seizing the beating. He captured the flailing wrists and pinned the guy on the ground. 

"Why the fuck are you beating up a student, asshole?"

The bully, sick bastard he is, laughed as his cheek was pressed harder on the ground. "He's a fag! Why not?"

"That doesn't give you the right to bully him!"

The bully scoffed, "It does! Society nowadays don't realize that the real toxic things in the world are the fucking fa—"

Bokuto snarled at him, "I dare you to finish that word." He glanced at the still guy before turning his glare back at him. "I. Motherfucking. Dare. You."

The silence engulfed the alleyway. I'm a sardonic manner, the bully grinned at him and spat in his face. 

"Fag-" He emphasized, "—got."

That all it took till Bokuto slammed his fist in his nose. His head ricocheted on the concrete, the man's face skewered in pain as he finally registered the blossoming pain. 

"People like you disgust me."

He then lifted the boy, the limp and nearly lifeless boy, and sprinted to school. He whispered reassuringly at him while doing so, not knowing if he would be okay or not. The only indication that he was alive was the often twitch of his fingers and shallow breathing that escaped his nose. 

That's how he found himself in the waiting area. 

His patience grew thin until a small lady, about five feet, walked out and smiled at him. Her face stressed but happy. 

Bokuto immediately relaxed. 

"He's okay."

"Thank god."

➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖➖

[IMG=2WC]

BONUS: 

"Dearie, this is Bokuto Koutarou, he's the student who got you here."

"Ah, thank you, Bokuto-san."

"It was no problem."

"I really appreciate this."

"I said, it's fine. I love to help others."

"That's very kind of you, Bokuto-san."

"I— eh, well— thanks."

"No need to thank me, I was stating the truth."

"You're — you're making me blush. Stop."

"I don't think I can stop, Bokutoo-san."

"Eh? Why?"

"I find your blush adorable."

Akaashi laughed as Bokuto blushed harder. 

"I kinda regret saving you now."

"That's mean, Bokuto-san."

"You're mean too! I kindly ask you to stop and lo—"

"Dearies, don't be do loud. I have other patients as well, you know."

"Sorry."

"I apologize."

**Author's Note:**

> LIKE WHAT YOU READ! 
> 
> COMMENT (cause I love replying and hearing what you guys want to say) 
> 
> And Enjoy the day!


End file.
